we're not friends, we're strangers with memories
by Min Daae
Summary: Clint's life has been varying degrees of weird since he made the potentially questionable decision to join the Avengers Initiative. This is setting a new standard, though. And by 'this' we mean 'guess who's sitting in his apartment when Clint gets home.' It's not the Tooth Fairy.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes: __This fic is known affectionately as "the best dysfunctional sitcom ever" or possibly "help I've fallen into writing sitcoms about serious characters with serious issues."_

_This thing came out of my burning need for a fic in which Clint and Loki 'hang out' and by that I mean 'are ruthlessly awkward and unkind to each other.' I really have...no other justification. That's about it. Also I promised myself I wouldn't post two WIPs at the same time, but I'm really excited about this one and I just Want to Share._

_I'm so sorry. But not that sorry._

_With much love to my beta, zaataronpita; she makes a much more obedient hawkling than Clint Barton._

* * *

Another day, another supervillain.

Sometimes Clint really missed SHIELD work. Simpler, for one, and he didn't remember ever dragging himself back from a mission feeling quite this beat, though Nat claimed that was his faulty memory at work. She might have a point.

Either way, it was barely even five and all he really wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a good fourteen hours.

He fumbled with the lock on his apartment door and blinked when it swung open, already unlocked. Tensing as he reached for his backup knife, he wished he hadn't left the throwing knives with Tony, even if they were too blunt to be much good. He never left the door unlocked. Which meant that someone had been here. And might still be.

"All right," he said, in a loud voice. "Five seconds to say something or I stab first and ask questions later."

Silence. After a moment, Clint shoved the door open the rest of the way, but the lights were off and he couldn't see anyone. "Two seconds," he said, loudly. "Fair warning, I don't miss." He stepped in cautiously, reached for the switch, and flicked it on.

"I know," said the nightmare on the couch, lounging casually on his furniture as though he belonged there. "Though that knife is weighted all wrong for throwing."

All of Clint's muscles froze at once. His fingers spasmed around the hilt of his knife. _He's here, _he thought wildly. _He's here to take me back._

Loki smiled thinly at him, green eyes remaining cool and unaffected. He wasn't wearing his armor, just light linen that made him look smaller. Not much less threatening, though. "Good afternoon."

Clint flung the knife. Loki moved just slightly at the last minute, and looked back at him, apparently unperturbed by the blade embedded in the couch barely an inch from his head. He groped for his communicator (he's supposed to be in prison, he's not even supposed to be on this planet) and had it in hand when Loki shifted.

"Fair warning," he murmured, "That should you summon anyone, Miss Romanova's life will rapidly become very uncomfortable. There are all kinds of things I know she would rather the public did not know. And of course there is the matter of the location of her residence."

"You're bluffing," Clint said flatly, but he fell still. At least some of that – was shit that could get Nat in hot water for treason. Or worse. And Loki knew it because Clint had told him. There was a growing cold pit in his stomach.

"Am I?" Loki didn't sound amused. His gaze was cold and calm. Clint let go of the communicator, slowly.

"What do you want," he asked, harshly. "If you're here for another attempted takeover, I'm – _we're_ – happy to make sure it ends the same way as the last one."

A flicker of some emotion around the corner of Loki's mouth, but Clint couldn't quite pin it down, and he didn't want to go hunting back through carefully ignored memories of what he'd gotten from Loki when he'd been his puppet. "Charming as ever. No."

"How did you give your dad the slip?" Clint asked harshly, thinking fast. An energy signature like Loki's would show up on Stark's monitoring equipment, and if he could just stall long enough… Loki's expression cracked for a moment into a snarl but smoothed again in moments.

"I have no father, Barton, to give 'the slip' to." Loki shrugged. "I have my ways."

There was something going on. Clint could feel it nagging at his instincts, something different, something that he was just missing. He took a step forward, then back, circled around the couch leaving plenty of room between himself and his unwanted guest. He could strike first, but that would likely just provoke him into a fight Clint knew he'd lose. So. Stall. Play for time.

"Your ways, huh? That's cryptic."

Loki smiled thinly. "I'm not inclined to inform you. Is that better?"

"Not really, no." He itched to reach for a weapon. To do something. At least to _leave._ Loki's eyes followed him, flat and reptilian. It made his skin crawl. He could feel his muscles winding tight. _Kill him, _a voice at the back of his mind said, and _Kneel, _murmured another. He fought them both down. _Stop looking at me, _he wanted to snap, and held that back too.

"Why are you here?" Clint asked bluntly, giving up on subtlety. How long would it take the others to notice? Not that long, JARVIS would alert Tony and…

Loki's mouth tilted up at the corners. "Why, I thought I would visit an old friend."

Clint felt himself twitch. "Uh huh."

"Why not?" Loki leaned back, sprawled loose-limbed and comfortable over most of the couch. "You were so _eager _to help me before."

_Don't attack him, _Clint reminded himself. _You can't win. _

Loki's smile widened very slightly. "You were wonderfully obedient, Clint Barton. My favorite…pet. So willing to do what needed to be if you're going to be coy, perhaps Romanova would give me a better reception."

Clint's lips peeled back from his teeth. She was safe, of course she was safe, she could take care of herself, but- "Shut up."

"Touchy subject?" Loki said lightly, and leaned forward a little. "Why, concerned she might find me a more appealing altern-"

Clint made an inarticulate snarling noise and lunged. He grabbed the knife with one hand and Loki's tunic thing with the other, hauled him off the couch and slammed the blade in under his ribs. _Worth it, _he thought, savagely. _So goddamn-_

He let go. To his surprise, Loki stayed down, kneeling on the carpet with one hand as a brace. "What," Clint said belligerently, "that it, you done?" _Get out, _his thoughts screamed. _Get out now, _but the urge to stay – and the rage – was stronger.

A moment more of silence, then Loki reached for the knife with the other hand, pulled it out, and pressed his palm over the wound. Then he took a couple ragged breaths and looked up. Clint recoiled.

"Go on," Loki said, baring his teeth up at Clint, a faintly mad glint in his eyes. "How long have you wanted this? How long have you _yearned, _so very _desperately, _to have me at your mercy-"

His voice wormed into his head, stirring up a tangle of feelings that made his stomach turn, longing and need and a vague feeling of loss. Clint lashed out almost blindly, felt the satisfying crunch of Loki's nose breaking under his fist. The surge of sick, hot satisfaction almost made him reel, and he struck again, _again, _hatred boiling up like bile, like he could get rid of all of it if he could just-

Loki was laughing, Clint realized. _Laughing. _

He hauled himself back, forced his hand to release the handful of cloth he'd seized at Loki's throat and looked at his face. Blood dripped from his nose and he swayed as Clint released him, still laughing. His eyes gleamed, almost feverish. "Why stop?" Loki said, voice sickeningly smooth. "Do you think _I _would? I wouldn't. Let it out, hawkling. Let it _all _out."

Clint took a sharp step back, his head spinning. _Hawkling. _Violence surged again, _break him, make him beg—_

"Or are you too _weak _to even do what you want? Too _broken-"_

"Shut up," Clint snarled.

"Or what?" That voice, needling at his brain, cruel, mocking. He needed it to stop. "What are you going to do?" Clint took a step forward, and that ghostly white face streaked with red grinned at him like a death's head. "What will you do? What _can _you, helpless, wretched, pathetic-"

_Useless, weak, broken-_

He lunged, blood pounding in his ears, his fingers around the throat of this specter of his own thoughts, choking off that voice, that awful, pervasive, constant, violating voice that never left him alone-

Clint blinked, his head clearing in the sudden silence. His fingers dug into the pale flesh of Loki's throat, clamped squeezing around his neck, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the pulse jumping under his fingers, the faint choking sound as he struggled for air. Loki's hands groped at his wrists, wrapped around them, but didn't pull even as his body began to convulse forlack of air, and his eyes, wide, laughing, a flicker of satisfaction-

He let go violently and shoved himself back, almost stumbling away. "I'm not your weapon anymore," he snarled. "I don't know why you're trying to – but you can't use me. You can't – you can't-" Clint swallowed convulsively.

Loki coughed, chest heaving, but his eyes glittered in his too pale face. "Can't do it, hawkling?"

"I _could,_" Clint snapped. "I'm just not-"

Wait.

"What are you waiting for?" Loki asked, tone thick with mockery. "Or have you changed your mind and decided to come back to me after all?"

Clint pushed down the surge of temper and bile, tried to focus. Loki's nose was slightly crooked. Clint had felt it break. A glance down showed that the stab wound was still bleeding. And this close, he was aware of what he'd felt to be missing. It was that indefinable presence that Thor radiated constantly and that he remembered from being near Loki, a sense of power humming just under the skin. But Loki was just…

"You're human," he said blankly.

Loki's teeth bared. "Very good. You've puzzled it out. Cunning, _clever _hawkling. Let no one say the All-Father does not have a sense of irony."

Clint felt hysteria bubbling up in him. "That's _all_? _This _is your punishment? Everything you did and you just get sent to have a time out on _Earth?_"

Loki's expression twisted. "Make no mistake. This is not leniency. Still, if you like, you ought to go complain to him. It was not _my _choice."

"Wasn't your-" Something was beginning to come together. _This is not leniency. _The deliberate way Loki had goaded him into a rage when he _had _to know how vulnerable he was without god-strength. Clint took another step back. "Hold on," he said. "Was this some sort of – fucked up attempt at suicide by Avenger?" The anger was coming back.

Loki's face stretched in a grotesque grin. "Rather nicely done, I thought." He wavered, very slightly, eyes glittering with a kind of desperate, manic mirth. "Odin denied me a quick death. I was always resourceful. Didn't I say you were always willing to do what needed to be done?"

"You fucker," Clint said savagely.

"Yes," Loki murmured. "Rather." Then he went limp and slid facedown to the floor with a quiet sigh.

~.~

The voice in his head that urged dumping former god Loki Whateverson in a dumpster and forgetting about the whole thing was more than just a quiet one. There weren't a whole lot of reasons not to, either. It wasn't like he wouldn't deserve it.

On the other hand, Loki had barged back into Clint's life looking to die, and for that reason alone Clint was tempted to spite him. Because letting the bastard bleed to death in some back alley would be giving him exactly what he wanted, and would be proving that he still was just Loki's weapon, and it just wasn't…

Fuck him. If he thought living life as a lowly human was that bad, then he could enjoy it.

Loki was lucky he hadn't been aiming for anything vital. He was still breathing, if shallowly, once Clint made up his mind. Clint left Loki on the floor while he threw together the shittiest sewing job he'd ever done, slapped gauze over it, and sat back on his heels. He wasn't going to lie. It was pretty satisfying seeing His Highness's pretty face messed up with bruises.

At least until his eyes strayed a little down and he saw the fingermarks around his throat. His stomach did a funny uneasy lurch and he stood up hurriedly, turning his back.

Though he did go back, after a moment, to cuff Loki's hands. And then his ankles, just in case. _Human _didn't, after all, necessarily mean _defenseless, _and he had a feeling Loki was going to wake up pissed.

Loki did.

The first thing he said was a long string of what were definitely profanities in what was definitely not English. The second was something directed more particularly at Clint – perched on his couch with his bow to hand – and Clint suspected that it would have blistered the skin off his face if Loki weren't depowered. He stayed where he was.

"What do you think you are doing," he snapped.

"Saving your life," Clint said blandly. "Sorry to disappoint."

Loki thrashed wildly against the restraints, snarling like he was going to rip Clint's throat out with his teeth. He looked frantic, feral. "Weakling," he said savagely. "_Coward._ What kind of Avenger _are _you when you cannot even avenge yourself?"

"I don't know," Clint said, "I'm feeling pretty good about my life choices." Loki's eyes blazed with hate and his whole body writhed in impotent rage. "Careful. You'll pop your stitches. That hurts us mortals, you know."

"I'll rip your filthy tongue out of your mouth," Loki promised. Clint shrugged.

"Somehow I don't think so." Loki snarled, and Clint raised his eyebrows. "Keep doing that I might have to slap a muzzle on you."

"I don't need magic to kill you. And I will. If you do not-"

"Try to push me again and I'll just cripple you. No super healing anymore. You want that? Want to spend the rest of your pathetic little life broken, helpless, crawling for scraps…"

Loki's eyes flashed. His face was drawn tight with pain, Clint noticed. Too bad. (Deep down, Clint felt a little twinge of unease.) "Pathetic, puling, _insect,_" Loki spat.

"Yeah," Clint said, "You too." He stood up. "You know, there's honestly no point in calling in anyone to deal with you, huh. You're not a threat for the Avengers to handle."

Loki sneered. "Do you just intend to let me go _free?_ I might wreak any amount of havoc. I _will._ Can you _bear _that on your _fragile _conscience?"

Clint shrugged again. "Way you are now…any policeman could take you out. So why not? You can't do much. You're basically neutered. Gelded. Whichever. So…"

"If you let me leave here I will see to it Romanov suffers. And the others. All of them. A few words in the right ears – I can do _that _much still, don't mistake me." Loki's voice was low and fierce and, Clint heard, desperate. Huh.

He took a step forward and crouched down next to Loki, who fought the cuffs again. There were already swelling welts under the metal Clint hadn't bothered to pad. Looking at the reddening marks on slender wrists, he made himself push down the first response. _Leftovers. That's all. _"Wow. Is being human really _that _bad? Or are you just that quick to give up? You're practically _begging _me."

Loki's jaw clenched visibly. "You have no _idea. _I would rather take a clean death than linger in this decaying flesh."

It could have been true. Clint almost believed it. The disgust in Loki's voice was certainly genuine. But some small part of him whispered _lie. _

He leaned in. "Uh huh. What're you scared of, Loki?"

Loki's hands flashed up very suddenly, cuffs dangling from one wrist – _shit, of course he could get out of those _– pulled Clint down and rolled them both over, pinned Clint on his back. Fingers dug into his throat, cut off his air. "You should have taken my first offer," he said, low and vicious. "Now – if I kill you, I don't doubt your friends will rush-"

Clint regathered himself and slammed his fist up into the gauze covering fresh stitches under Loki's ribs. He made a strangled sound and his hands loosened just enough for Clint to suck in a breath and strike again, this time grinding two knuckles directly into the wound. He felt the stitches pop under the pressure.

Loki let out a short, harsh scream and jerked away. Clint shoved him off and scrambled to his feet. "Try a stunt like that again and I'll make damn sure-"

"Kill me or I kill you," Loki rasped harshly. "Those are your options, Clint Barton." His face was white, tight with pain. "Your _only _options."

"Or I could just beat your ass up and call your brother down here, let _him-_"

"Do you think I can't enact my failsafe from a cage? Anything but the options I've given you and I _swear _to you that it will not be an hour before your lover is crucified for her past misdeeds. Another hour and I'll undo the rest. Do you doubt me?"

Loki's voice was fervent, harsh. He meant every word. _Just do it, _Clint thought. _Who cares if it's what he wants? Kill him and it's over for good. _

_He doesn't own me. _"No," Clint said. Loki shoved himself partially upright. There was fresh blood on the bandaging. "I don't like your choices."

"That's a pity. They're the choices you get." Loki's teeth bared, but it looked more like pain than anything else.

"What about a counteroffer?" Clint said, voice deliberately casual. "You can't win a fight right now. I'm not going to kill you. I could just dump you back on the street. I have a feeling that's what you're trying to avoid. You're running from something big, and you've got no chance and you know it."

"I don't hear an offer."

"You turn yourself in. Maybe you can talk Fury into giving you enough rope to hang yourself with."

Loki's laugh was harsh. "You're not a very good bargainer."

"Good enough. You want a time limit to decide? How about-"

"Fine," Loki said, his expression a rictus. "_Fine, _if you are so _weak _that you refuse to enact your own desires – I will simply stay here until you change your mind."

"You – _what?_"

Loki smiled thinly and unpleasantly. "As you pointed out, I have nowhere else to go." Clint's stomach started churning. _Kill him, _said the rational voice, again. _You'll do it anyway before the week is out, if he actually…_

"No," he said, flatly. "No, and if you don't back down right now-"

"Remember Miss Romanova, hawkling."

"Don't call me that," Clint hissed. _Kill him kill him kill him. _No. He could figure this out without doing what Loki wanted him to. It would just take a little bit of thinking. A little bit of time. Loki might be bluffing about his threat. Of course he might. Was he willing to take that risk? _Just do it. Just kill him. _Loki's eyes bored into him.

"Well?"

"You're not staying here. You can't _actually _think that I'll agree to this."

"It's your choice, Barton. _You _refused my generous initial offer." His lips curled up at the corners. "Should you change your mind, of course…"

"You being so attached to the idea of dying makes it far less appealing," Clint said. This wasn't happening, he thought hopefully. Any minute he would wake up and…

"Contradiction for the sake of contradiction? How mature." Loki's stare was cold. "Choose, hawkling."

_Choose. _What else could he do? _All else fails, _Clint thought grimly. _You can always change your mind. _That didn't seem comforting.

"You sleep on the couch," Clint snapped, "and the minute you pull anything…"

"What," Loki said, with obvious amusement. "You'll kill me?"

God, Clint hated him. Just not enough. Or maybe too much. He turned his back. "You can fix your own stitches. Don't bleed on my furniture."

~.~

Clint slept spottily and poorly, waking at the slightest noise. None of them were Loki creeping into his room in the middle of the night, though, so he woke up cranky and overtired rather than with any new holes in his body. For about a half a minute stumbling out of his room to scrounge up some coffee, he thought the whole thing had been some kind of bizarre, surreal, fucked up dream.

Loki was sitting at the table already, back ramrod straight and peeling the shell off of a hard boiled egg. He glanced up briefly as Clint entered, looked him over, and then looked back down in clear dismissal. Clint set his teeth to ignore it.

"You look terrible," his voice floated out as Clint went fishing for the coffee grounds. "I hope you didn't sleep poorly." Loki looked pale, but other than that and the stiff way he held himself there was no obvious sign that he was hiding a stab wound under his clothes. Clint supposed he probably knew how to do a field dressing, and was just stubborn enough to pretend it wasn't bothering him. He was tempted to poke him just to see what would happen.

"Fuck off," Clint said bluntly. The grounds were in the breadbox, for some reason. Clint would have suspected Loki, except that it was fairly likely he'd put them there himself. He dug out the coffee pot, eyed it, gave it a cursory rinse and stuck it in the machine. Tony fucking Stark probably didn't have to make his own coffee, Clint thought resentfully. Probably had a gadget to do it for him. Maybe he could poach that.

"Such vehemence, only for expressing a wish for your well being?" Loki clicked his tongue. "For shame."

Clint's lips pressed together. "How about you? Nice, restful nap? Nightmares all gone?" He didn't see Loki twitch, but he almost heard it. "Did you think I'd forget that little detail?"

"I'm touched by your concern." Loki's voice was perfectly level, unperturbed. "Unnecessary though it may be. But if I was the cause of your restlessness, I would like to assure you that I would never kill you in your sleep."

"Sure." Clint started up the coffee and turned around. "You're just a good guy that way."

"Of course not," Loki said placidly, and took a bite out of his egg. "I would kill you looking into your eyes, making sure that you knew that to strike you down was an act of mercy that meant you wouldn't have to see the ruin of all you love."

Clint just stared at him for a moment, then said, "How are you going to pull that off?"

"I shall be sure to let you know the moment it becomes my intention." Loki's eyes returned to his plate. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Clint felt himself bristle.

"You're helpless," Clint said, viciously. "Powerless. So yeah, that's something I'd like to hear. Make for a good laugh."

Loki's eyes flashed, very briefly. It was still satisfying. "I might say the same of you. Yet you served your purpose…adequately."

More than adequately, Clint wanted to snap. _You _said so, _you _told me I was the best, but even just thinking about admitting any of that made him want to throw up on Loki's plate. "Yeah, well, difference is that I'm not a failure." He heard Loki's teeth click together and turned around as the coffeepot beeped. "So, you know."

"This must be _so _enjoyable for you," Loki said after a moment, almost spitting the words. Clint poured himself a mug and blew on it, half hoping Loki would lunge at him.

"Yeah," he said blithely, turning back to face him. "A little. If you get tired of it, you're welcome to leave." Loki's teeth flashed, and Clint watched his right hand flex and then forcibly relax.

"Yes. I'm sure that would suit you very well." Loki said, his voice not quite harsh but definitely acidic. "I'm so sorry I am not more accommodating."

"And I'm sorry you're in my apartment. So I guess that makes two of us." Clint swallowed another gulp of coffee. "I've gotta be out today. Work stuff. You can stay here and not touch anything."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Awfully trusting of you."

Clint shrugged. "Not so much. I just know you're not going to be able to do much without keeling over, and if you do pull anything I'll beat the shit out of you, tie you to a lamppost and leave you for SHIELD. So."

His jaw did that little spasm again. "Clear enough," he said smoothly, and stood with his empty plate. Clint just caught the wince as he straightened too fast.

"If you're really good," Clint said, with a slightly nasty smile, "Maybe I'll stop by and pick up some painkillers."

Loki slipped past him and over to the sink, turned on the water. Clint could almost hear his teeth grinding. When he spoke, though, his voice was back to amiably pleasant. "I am curious. 'Work,' you said. For your Avengers, or SHIELD?"

"None of your business," Clint said. His fingers tapped an irregular rhythm against the counter until he made them stop.

"I merely wondered if SHIELD had you back in the field again already."

_Don't answer that. _Clint stared at the back of his neck and pictured putting one of the steak knives through Loki's spine, and waited. As the silence stretched out, he imitated a start. "Oh – were you waiting for an answer?"

Loki shut off the water. His voice didn't alter in the slightest. "How many weeks did they test you before they allowed you back in the field?" Clint didn't let himself tense. "What sorts of trials did they put you through, to ensure there was none of _me _left?"

Clint made himself shrug. "A few. I cleared them all easy, though. Didn't stick very well, did it?"

"Oh, I don't know. The working hooked into you like there was a hole in your soul just _made _for me." For a ghastly moment, Clint could almost see it, his – _soul, _whatever, squirming on a fishhook made of blue light.

"It wasn't even yours," Clint burst out. "You could only pull that off because they let you. The Chitauri. Because they _gave _you the power, and you couldn't even keep that. You were powerless then too, remember? I'd think you'd be used to it by now."

Loki's teeth flashed as he turned, plate still in hand. "You have no idea what I can do."

"Could," Clint said, ruthlessly. "Used to be able to. Remember? You're just regular old mortal now." Loki made a sharp move in his direction, only to stop, free hand going to his side with a sound not quite a hiss. Clint raised his eyebrows. "What," he said, "hurts? Get used to it. You'll be feeling that for a while."

Loki subsided. Slowly. Clint watched him rein himself back in and control his expression back to brutal neutrality.

"Better face it," Clint said. "This is what your life looks like now. Forever. Cause I'm guessing you don't have a get out of death free card like your brother." The noise Loki made was somewhere between a hiss and a snarl.

"This must be why I liked you," he said, voice smoothed back to even. "You are like me. Vindictive. Cruel."

"Yeah?" Clint leaned a little forward. "Maybe. But I'm an _Avenger. _You know what you are?" He grinned. "_Nothing._ You've got nothing, and no one. The only person in the _world _you thought you could come to is _me, _and I hate your guts so much I'm leaving you alive to spite , I'm _vindictive. _You know what else? I'm still better than you." He drained the rest of his coffee and set the mug down, turned his back to go and get dressed. He needed out of here. "You can wash my mug. I've got places to be."

"You haven't answered my question."

Clint didn't even glance over his shoulder. "Am I supposed to feel like I have to?"

"What did it take to prove to them that you were – how might they put it – _clean?_"

"Is there some kind of point to this? Or are you just talking to listen to your own voice, cause-"

"What did it take to prove it to yourself?"

Clint went rigid. Unable to sleep except with Natasha right there, reassuring him when he woke, _it's still you. You're still you. _The times he still caught himself checking the mirror for specks of blue, for some kind of _wrongness… _"I know the difference," he said, harshly. "It's pretty clear when I'm in charge of my own mind."

He could hear the smile in Loki's voice. "Is it?"

"Yeah," Clint said firmly. "It is."

"So _certain._ Although in truth…I don't think you are."

"Good thing your opinion doesn't matter," Clint said harshly, and headed back down the hallway. "Keep talking and I'll see about picking up a replica of that muzzle Thor put on you. Looked pretty good."

"Does it bother you because I'm wrong, or because I'm merely voicing what you're afraid to say?" Clint turned at the door to his bedroom.

"Honestly? Mostly it bothers me because I have to listen to you talk and it's too early for me to deal with your bullshit." He opened the door. "So go ahead. Keep bugging me. I'd love an excuse to hogtie you and leave you in the bathtub for a day."

He managed to not slam the door behind him. Barely.

This was never, he thought, breathing a little raggedly, going to work. He might as well just put a bullet through Loki's head now, or he'd end up putting one through his own.

Maybe if he just _told _Natasha, explained what was going on…

She'd just kill him. Probably gladly. Problem solved, no more Loki in his apartment, no more threat to Nat, everything good, _peachy. _Why didn't he just do that?

If Thor found out there would probably be a serious problem. That was one reason. He didn't know how Loki's failsafe was activated, and if he didn't disable that first, Natasha would be in trouble. There was another one. The satisfaction of watching Loki squirm. And the other one…

The last reason Clint didn't look at too closely. At least not now.

He took a quick shower, threw on some clothes and grabbed his equipment before reemerging. Loki was not, as he'd half hoped, gone, but merely migrated back to the couch, where he was sitting looking disappointingly not in pain. Clint headed for the door without looking too hard in his direction.

"Have fun," Loki's voice wafted after him. Clint ignored it.

~.~

Natasha noticed something was wrong, of course. He didn't quite manage to settle his jitters quickly enough. The look she gave him at team briefing was sharp, but she didn't say anything until they had a moment to talk quietly.

"What's up," she asked, barely more than a murmur. For a moment, he considered again telling her everything, but at the last minute changed his mind. Clint smoothed his face and shrugged.

"Nothing new."

Nat's mouth tightened and the little flash of anger in her eyes was…probably inappropriately pleasing. "Would you like me to come over tonight?" she asked, plainly and without pity, but Clint still felt his shoulders tense up. He forced them not to.

"Nah," he said. "I need to sleep. If you're over…" he waggled his eyebrows at her and she swatted his shoulder with a sharp backhand that just made him grin wider. She made a disgusted noise, but seemed to accept his answer.

No one else bothered to ask. Clint looked closely at Thor, and wondered if he looked a little melancholy. He couldn't be sure, though. Maybe he was projecting. _He _sure felt a little melancholy. His thoughts kept floating back to his apartment, what kind of havoc Loki might be wreaking, if he'd killed Mrs. Brustein's yappy dog (all right, he might not mind that one so much) or maybe Mrs. Brustein…

Fortunately, it was a publicity day, so he didn't really have all that much to do. Stand around and look pretty, basically, and he could slink away with fairly thin excuse after it was over. He felt more than a twinge of resentment at needing to, though. Maybe he should have just tied Loki up in the bathtub anyway for his peace of mind.

He got back to his apartment and paused to listen at the door for a moment before going in. He couldn't hear anything inside, though, and while he was standing there of course his landlord walked by to see him with his ear pressed to the door. Clint straightened quickly.

She gave him a powerfully suspicious look.

"Just making sure my friends aren't trying to throw me a surprise party," Clint said, with a smile that felt too tight. She raised her eyebrows, apparently unimpressed. For some reason she always seemed to think he was likely to do something criminal. What, Clint wasn't exactly sure.

"Uh-huh."

Clint was suddenly very sure Loki was going to come to the door and say something inopportune, right then. The door stayed shut, though. "Yep," Clint affirmed. "Seems safe, though." She raised her eyebrows a little further, and Clint gave up on trying to be convincing, threw out an, "Afternoon," and let himself into his apartment.

Loki was stretched out on his couch, turning something over in his hands. When the door opened, he held it up without glancing over. "What is this?" he asked, and it took Clint a moment to realize that it was – had been – his alarm clock. Now thoroughly gutted, definitely unusable, and probably unsalvageable.

For a moment, Clint just stared at him, almost disbelieving. Six, maybe seven hours. That was _all. _And one day. "What the hell," he snarled. Loki didn't look impressed and turned his head to glance at him. "What are you – why did you _take it apart?_"

Loki shrugged. "I wanted to see how it worked. I was bored."

"You wanted to-" Clint swore. "Are you trying to _irritate _me into offing you?"

Loki's eyes returned to the alarm clock. "Is it working?"

"No," Clint snarled, though inwardly he was pretty sure the answer was _yes. _"Do you realize how pathetic you sound? You're practically begging me-"

"Desperate times, desperate measures," Loki said easily, and Clint wanted very devoutly to haul him off the couch and punch him in the face. "It is hardly as though my situation can get very much worse."

"Maybe I can help with that."

"Mm." Loki set the remnants of the alarm clock aside. "Are you going to answer my question or not?"

"It _was _my alarm clock. And you're going to owe me for a new one." Loki gave him a thoroughly dry smile.

"To be paid in what, exactly?" He stretched his arms over his head and closed his eyes. "I suppose I could offer sexual favors, but I don't think that's what you mean." Clint just stared at the ex-god and made a violently disgusted noise, unable to summon any other response.

"How's the stab wound," he said, finally, for lack of any other response.

"What would you do if I said it was festering?" Clint opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn't have a ready answer for that one.

"Wait until you got sick enough I could kick you out," he said, finally. Loki seemed faintly amused.

"I see." He opened one eye. "I have been remiss, however. How was your day? Your motley band of heroes still clinging together?"

"My day was fine, thanks, and you're just going to have to live in curiosity." Clint strode across the room and kicked Loki's leg. "Get off."

Loki's eyebrows rose. "Is that any way to ask?"

"I don't have to kill you to make your life miserable," Clint said flatly. A smile bloomed on Loki's face, and he pushed himself up on his elbows.

"Oh, is that the way it's to be? You push me, and I push you. Who do you think will give first, oh my hawkling?" Clint felt his lips peel back from his teeth before he could control his face. "I know you. I know exactly how brittle you are. Play any game against me and I will win." He sat up a little further. "I have you, as you might put it, by the balls. How long do you think you can tolerate that?"

"A lot longer," Clint said, "knowing that you've fallen far enough that me killing you is the best option you can come up with." His smile felt ugly. "You're not a threat anymore, Loki. You're a nuisance. That's all."

Loki moved sharply like he was going to stand, and stopped almost at once with a sharp inhale, one of his hands going to his side. His eyes were full of hate and Clint held himself ready, prepared if Loki made a move, but he didn't.

Clint stepped around him and flopped onto the couch, deliberately casual as he reached for the remote. "Thanks for moving," he drawled, and turned on the TV, turning up the volume. Loki stayed there, breathing hard, until he finally turned and retreated back into the apartment. "If you touch my stuff I'm not giving you any dinner!" Clint called after him, and imagined he could almost hear Loki's teeth grind.

~.~

He didn't see any more of Loki until the evening, which suited Clint _just _fine. He imagined vaguely – and without much hope – that Loki had just fucked off already and things could get back to their usual level of crazy as opposed to the current level of crazy.

Of course, he wasn't quite that lucky. If he were that lucky, he wouldn't be _in _this situation to begin with.

"What is this?"

The audible disdain in Loki's voice made Clint grit his teeth. "Dinner," he said, flatly. "For me."

Loki scoffed. "That _is _a relief. It smells like swill."

"Good thing I made enough for two, then," Clint said, not looking up though he felt his shoulders tense. _It smells fine, _he wanted to snap, defensively. _You ate what I made you happily enough before._ _You used to say, _but he didn't want to bring that up even a little bit. "Go ahead, sit down. Swill's waiting."

Loki made a faint and elegantly exasperated sound. "Haven't you anything _else?_"

"Not for you," Clint said easily. "And if you go digging around in my fridge I will tie you down and force feed you fish sauce. Okay?"

Loki's lip curled. "If you think I am going to begin to find your impudence entertaining…"

"Oh no," Clint said, and took a generous bite of his food. "I'm not trying to entertain _you. _I _am _entertaining me." He cocked his head a little to the side. "Also…wouldn't impudence require that you were actually on a level above me? As opposed to where you are, which…"

Loki made a sound like he'd tried to swallow a snarl. "I am not going to put up with this sort of – _humiliation. _From you, of _all _people. And whatever that is, I will not eat it."

"Literal beggars can't be choosers," Clint said, keeping his eyes on Loki. Loki's hands twitched like he was considering trying to put them around Clint's throat. "And that's what you are, isn't it?"

"I will go out, then," Loki said, tersely. "You have plenty of restaurants at which I may find something acceptable-"

"With what money?" Clint gave him a patronizing smile. "Generally people are going to expect you to pay. And that's if they don't peg you as a war criminal and call the police on your sorry ass."

"I'll use yours," Loki said, through his teeth. Clint laughed.

"Uh huh. Even if you could – you do that and I will make your life even more miserable than it already is. And that still doesn't get rid of the problem where you're _pretty _distinctive, even in the bedraggled version."

Loki was breathing shallowly and rapidly. His face flickered between emotions too quick to catch, but there was definitely fury, and Clint felt a warm, almost hot feeling of satisfaction. He'd backed Loki into a corner, and they both knew it. _How's it feel, _he thought, eyes boring into Loki. _Being on the other end of it?_

"You eat whatever I'm willing to let you," Clint said, keeping his voice level and calm, hoping none of his triumph was coming through. "Or you don't eat. And that's not going to work out too well for you now that you're a sickly mortal, in case you didn't know." While he was waiting, he took a bite from his own plate, chewed it with exaggeration. "Honestly, you should be grateful I _do _feel like feeding you. I'm not rolling in money."

Loki's lips peeled back from his teeth. "I _dearly _hope that I live long enough to watch you choke on your own blood as you die," he said, perfectly flat. Clint gave him a smile.

"That'd leave you kind of fucked, wouldn't it?" He said, pleasantly.

Loki sat down, at length, a tic twitching in his jaw. He picked up the fork delicately, his eyes looking straight through Clint. Clint didn't bother to suppress a smirk.

"Good call," he said, and lifted his glass in a mock toast. "Cheers."

The look Loki gave him could have burned through metal, and Clint had to fight himself not to flinch back. A moment later it was wiped away, though, Loki's expression perfectly blank, and he ate in absolute silence.

Clint tried not to let it get to him, and did not, in the _least, _feel guilty.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint hoped someday he would look back on this time in his life and laugh. And not the bitter, hysterical kind, either, cause he was pretty sure he was already halfway to that one. He was counting five days, though, and he hadn't killed either himself or his new houseguest yet. He'd decided to call that an accomplishment and not a sign of his impending mental breakdown.

He wasn't sleeping well, though, and the third time in a row he woke up sweating with hazy memories of Loki's voice in his ear he gave up on sleeping and went out to the living room, half hoping for the chance to wake Loki up. As always, though, he was already awake.

"Do you ever sleep?" Clint asked bluntly. Loki didn't so much as glance at him.

"Occasionally. More than you do, perhaps." Loki held up a bowl. "Cashew?"

"Those are mine," Clint said. "And I'm not taking anything you offer me."

"Suit yourself." Loki sounded faintly amused, and Clint hated him more than ever. For a moment he seriously considered telling Loki yes, fine, you win, do you want an arrow through the eye or should I just cut your throat? That was the headache talking, though. He'd never been a morning person.

Clint paced over to the kitchen and started making coffee. "I thought I said not to take anything out of my cabinets."

"Because I am of _course _going to follow your instructions." Loki snorted, softly. "I don't think you were fool enough to expect a mild threat to be much of a deterrent to me."

"So I need to work on a more serious threat? Cause I can get pretty creative, if you want."

"Be my guest." Loki didn't sound terribly impressed, and Clint grimaced to himself. Being around Loki was turning him into a B-movie sci-fi villain, and he didn't like it. "But if you're expecting me to be impressed…"

"Oh, yeah," Clint said flatly. "Cause impressing you is my _first _goal."

Loki's mouth turned up slightly at the corners, and Clint knew he'd said the wrong thing before Loki spoke a word. "It was, once."

"If you didn't notice," Clint said, hearing his voice harden, "not so much anymore." He glanced over at the kitchen and paced over to fill a glass of water.

"I noticed." Loki still just sounded faintly amused. "Do you miss it?"

"No," Clint said without hesitation. Loki laughed, quietly.

"You answered too quickly, Barton. Try for more nonchalance in your denials and they might be more convincing." Loki stretched lazily. "As it stands…"

"You can stop trying to fuck with my head," Clint said, brutally flat. "I know you can't do anything to me anymore."

"Can't I?" Loki's voice lilted, strangely, and Clint caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned around quickly and found Loki moving toward him, motions fluid and graceful as Clint remembered, and for a moment he twitched with the urge to drop his eyes. "Even as I am…there's still a great deal I can do with you."

Clint made himself snort even as his instincts urged him to back off and stop prodding the volatile ex-god with psychotic tendencies. "That so?"

"Magic or not, I know you, Clint Barton. Better than anyone." Loki's voice was almost a croon, and Clint felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "You are so _very _pleased with yourself. I can strip that away from you." Clint's neck itched. His hands itched for a bow, a knife, something, and he kept himself from shifting into a defensive position even as Loki drew within arm's reach. He felt his breathing quicken and forced it to slow.

"How do you plan to do that? Seems to me you can't even get me to kill you like you want me to," Clint said, his jaw set, wishing he had his sunglasses on so he didn't have to meet those too-green eyes. "Seems to me-"

"You didn't beat me, hawkling."

Clint fell still. That name crawled down his spine with its easy, familiar affection and it made him want to vomit almost as much as the words. He shoved his panic ruthlessly down and didn't let himself budge. "Maybe _I _didn't. The Avengers did," Clint said harshly. "We won." Loki's eyes glittered.

"Tell me, hawkling, how victorious do you feel?"

"We beat you," he said. "That's what counts, isn't it? Where I'm sitting you seem pretty finished." He caught a faint flare of anger in Loki's eyes and even if it was gone fast, it was something. "I mean," Clint pushed, "It's kind of pathetic. How completely you lost. You've got nothing. _Really _nothing."

"Whereas you are the picture of fortune and health." Loki's voice had a new edge in it, his right hand flexing at his side. "Hiding away from your so-called friends. Tossing and turning the night through in restless sleep. Constantly searching yourself, constantly unsure that it is truly you, that your mind is entirely your own…do you think the others wonder? Whisper behind your back, asking if you've changed…"

"Shut up," Clint snapped. "Nat broke your little – _trick._"

Loki leaned back on his heels and smiled slightly. "Ah."

_Don't ask. Don't say anything. Walk away. _"What."

"I hadn't realized you thought as much. I suppose it would be comforting, to think that she might be your rescuer and liberator."

Clint could feel himself bristle at the same time as the skin on the back of his neck tried to crawl. "What are you saying," he asked, almost unwillingly.

"I let you go," Loki said easily. "You had served your purpose well enough." Clint felt cold, and Loki leaned forward again. "As I said. You didn't beat me. _Hawkling._"

"That's a lie," Clint said, but he heard the edge in his own voice.

"Is it? Indeed." Loki half closed his eyes. "It didn't seem – well – too easy?"

His stomach knotted. It had, hadn't he thought the same thing, over and over, examined himself for the smallest trace, the smallest remnant, almost _waiting…_"I don't believe you."

Loki smiled his shark's grin. "And yet. And yet I can almost smell the doubt on you."

"It doesn't matter," Clint said. "Whether it was you or Nat – I'm still out. _You're _still out. And you still lost. Unless you're going to try to convince me that you meant to do that?" Loki laughed again, the sound sickeningly affectionate, and Clint thought if he'd been holding a knife he wouldn't have been able to resist the urge to ram it through his vocal cords.

"No…but I thought you should know. I kept you as long as I needed you, and when you were no longer useful…" Loki spread his hands, and Clint felt a chill crawl down his spine and hated the part of him that wanted to whine that he could have been useful forever, that it was _Loki _who had cast him aside.

"Shouldn't have done that, I guess," Clint said, without emotion. One of Loki's hands rose in his peripheral vision, and Clint jerked back. Loki smirked narrowly and let his hand fall.

"Perhaps not," he said, just as calmly. "Though I doubt you would have turned the tide, little a creature as you are. Nonetheless…I would have laughed to see your spider struggle to fight against you."

"She wouldn't," Clint said, with certainty. "And if you think she would, you're still underestimating her." He turned his back, deliberately, though it was a struggle to do so. "Are you done?"

Loki's eyes flickered with something, but then he took a step back, arrogant smile back in place. "Do you dream of me? Is that why you sleep so poorly?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Clint said shortly. "I'm a light sleeper." Clint leaned back against the kitchen counter with deliberate nonchalance. "And I take naps."

"Not during the day, I hope." Loki was giving him a strange look, but after a moment seemed to decide against whatever he was considering and retreated back to his couch. "I'm curious, Barton. Have you considered the long term viability of this arrangement?"

"Have you?" Clint asked. Loki laughed again, though there was something a little off about it.

"Once or twice. The difference, however, is that I do not have a life which you are disrupting." Loki smiled thinly. "You do. What are you going to do when your spider wishes to visit you? Or other friends of yours?"

"Lock you in a closet, probably," Clint said, only half insincere. Loki gave him a sharp look, and Clint threw him a dazzling smile. "Just for a couple hours, don't worry. Maybe I'll even give you a bottle of water too. Unless I forget."

Loki's jaw clenched for a moment, and then relaxed. "The only one you're going to make miserable is yourself," he said. Clint raised his eyebrows.

"Really? Cause you seem pretty miserable to me. And that's actually making me less miserable, so I don't know. Maybe it evens out." For a moment he thought Loki would lash out at him, as he hadn't in a few days, but then the moment passed and Loki glanced away from him, his body held tense and stiff. Clint tapped his foot against the floor. "If this is so important to you, why don't you just, you know, off yourself? I'm pretty sure no one would have a problem with that."

Loki's shoulders twitched visibly, and Clint felt a stab of something uncomfortable under his ribs. He pushed it away hastily, not liking the way it felt almost like guilt. "I daresay that is none of your business."

"I daresay," Clint mimicked, "that it is. Since I'm the one you tried to use for your suicide play in the first place, and I'm the one who has to put up with you until you decide to find someone else." He stared at Loki's shoulders, the way they crept up another notch. "Is it a spite thing? I mean, are you hoping if you get yourself killed maybe everyone will feel bad about how they didn't kneel to you right away? Or do you just not have the guts-"

"Silence." Loki's voice vibrated. Clint laughed, gratingly.

"What," he said, "Did I hit a nerve? I'm just saying, if you're too much of a coward to end your own pathetic life then maybe-"

"I _cannot._" Loki's voice cracked like a whip, the tone of it taking Clint off guard. He started, and then quickly tried to cover it.

"What's that supposed to-"

Loki jerked to his feet and Clint shifted unconsciously into a defensive position at the sharp suddenness of it. "It means I cannot. It is part of my – _punishment._" The sudden, rank hatred in Loki's voice took Clint aback, and for a moment struck him speechless. "_Loki Laufeyson is to be rendered mortal._" His tone was unmistakably mimicking someone else, and the hair on Clint's neck stood up at the strangeness of a voice very different from Loki's, sonorous and grave, from Loki's lips. "_He will live out a mortal's years on the mortals' realm. In order that this sentence not be cut short, he will be unable to find death at his own hand._" Loki made a sound in the back of his throat like a cough. "So it is not a lack of, as you so charmingly put it – _guts_ – but a lack of I have always been very good at finding loopholes."

Clint's stomach squirmed strangely. He could see Loki almost vibrating from where he was still leaning against the counter, and the first word that popped into his head was _pathetic, _but it was touched with something unnervingly close to pity, and he choked on that. Didn't want it.

"Every living thing always has one choice left to it," Loki said, after a long moment of silence. His voice was almost quiet, strangely. "To live or to die. I have not even been left that."

The pity evaporated. "You wouldn't have left me that choice," Clint said without inflection. "When you took over my head. You wouldn't have let me choose."

Loki turned, his mouth set in a line. "That is not-"

"The same? Why not?" Clint asked. "Because it's me? Because I'm human? Cause hey, look, now you are too. How about that."

Loki's lips peeled back from his teeth. "You're an insolent brat." Clint shrugged.

"Heard that one before. You know, if I believed in karma, this would look a lot like karma. And actually – you're still coming out ahead. You can always leave." He saw Loki twitch again, and leaned forward. "Unless you're scared, of course. What is it you're scared of out there, huh?"

"I'll rip you apart," Loki said, with deadly promise. Clint stretched.

"Go ahead and try. I bet those stitches are still stinging, huh?" He turned his back in a deliberate show of carelessness, even if hair prickled on the back of his neck. "You know, I'm feeling loads better now. Think I might go back to sleep for a couple hours."

"Don't ignore me," Loki hissed. Clint threw a smirk over his shoulder.

"Good talk, Loki," he said easily. "G'night. Sleep tight." He wished he could record the sound of Loki's teeth grinding. It'd make a nice thing to listen to while he was trying to sleep.

~.~

He dragged himself home from another skirmish – this time dealing with some new group of weirdos calling themselves the Sinister Six – and found Loki reading a John LeCarre thriller on his couch.

"Is that what you do all day?" he asked bitingly. "Read airport novels?"

"It's not as though you have a great deal of literature to choose from." Loki raised his eyes from the book, and then raised his eyebrows. "Don't you look a mess."

"You should take up baking," Clint snapped. "Make me cookies, or something. Clean up around here. If you're going to play housewife-"

Loki closed the book. He looked thin, Clint noticed. A little pale, maybe. Hard to tell, with the shade of dead that was his usual skintone. "If the word 'housewife' crosses your lips again with reference to me, I will choose to attempt to divine the workings of your coffee machine next time you are out, and enterprise that will unfortunately end with your device in pieces on the floor."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a passive aggressive little bitch?" He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the ache in his left.

"Perhaps not in those exact terms recently, no." Loki leaned back on the couch and picked up his book again. Clint felt surly and antagonistic, and the more he looked at Loki the worse it got.

"Seriously," he said, after a moment. "Do you just sit here, all day? Doing _nothing?_"

"Sometimes I contemplate the mysteries of the universe," Loki said placidly, his voice flat and droll. Clint felt a flash of irritation.

"Must be a comedown," he said. "From having entire worlds at your fingertips, going wherever you please, whenever you please…" he saw Loki tense, minutely, and felt a flash of satisfaction.

"I am touched by your concern," he said, without emotion, and then glanced up again, one eyebrow arched. "Can you wash before subjecting me to your feeble attempts at verbal sparring? You smell appalling."

"What, did I hit a nerve?" Clint pressed. "Sorry about that. People tell me I lack sensitivity." Loki looked down at the book in his hands and slowly set it aside and turned his gaze, equally slowly, to meet Clint's. It was perfectly expressionless, enough to make his skin crawl.

"Are you done?"

"Done with what?"

"Attempting to expurgate your own feelings of worthlessness by using me as a proxy." Loki's mouth tipped up at one corner. "That is what you're doing, isn't it? At a guess…I expect the fighting went poorly for you today. You found yourself more hindrance than help. And now you are thinking, perhaps – _did they take me on out of pity?_" Loki's gaze was perfectly dispassionate. "The answer is probably yes."

Clint's heart fluttered, and he hated the way he thought frantically _he knows, how does he know, he's still in my head. _He twisted his expression into a sneer. "I'm pretty sure I just like watching you squirm."

"Mm." Loki sounded distinctly amused, and Clint's skin prickled. "You are right, though. I am bored."

Clint waited. When nothing more was forthcoming, he said, "Are you expecting me to do something about that?"

Loki shifted to sprawl across most of the couch, his gaze still flat and reptilian. "When I get bored, hawkling, I tend to get…restless."

"You telling me that I need to take you for walkies or you'll tear up my apartment like a dog with separation anxiety?" He watched Loki stiffen before he added, "nah. I don't think so. Thanks for letting me know, though, I'll just have to start locking you in the closet."

Loki's stare went still flatter, if that was possible. "If you think I will tolerate-"

"I don't think you'll tolerate anything," Clint said placidly. "I just don't think it matters whether you do or not."

Loki's teeth flashed. "I could kill you in your sleep."

"So I should just leave you there at all times, then, is what you're telling me." Even as he said it, though, Clint felt ugly, and his stomach twisted uneasily. He pushed that down too. Loki's jaw locked and Clint saw rage flash through his eyes before it was wiped hurriedly away.

"I'm _telling_ you," Loki said, his voice tight, "that I am going out. Tonight."

Clint stared at him, incredulous. "You're joking," he blurted out, before he thought better of it. Loki looked very faintly annoyed.

"No," Loki said. "I am not." He rolled his shoulders back. "I have spent long enough cowering within your walls. I am not going to make it an eternity."

Narrowing his eyes, Clint said, "I thought that was kind of the point. Cowering within my walls, I mean, cause something's got you too scared to try your luck on your own."

Loki gave him a thoroughly disdainful look. "Living on my own is hardly the same thing as spending a few hours outside. I judged it prudent to wait a time."

"Nothing to do with the fact that I accused you of being a coward," Clint said. Loki's eyes, if possible, went even colder and flatter.

"You overestimate the degree to which I care about your petty insults," Loki said, voice just faintly acidic. "I am restless. At the very least, a chance to stretch my legs and get out of this hovel would be welcome."

Thoroughly thrown, Clint stared a little more, not quite sure how to react to this sudden announcement. On the one hand, he could always just lock the door after Loki took off and not let him back in, but he somehow doubted that would work. He half wondered if Loki had brought this up just to see what he would do. "What about the whole thing where when you're inevitably recognized-"

"You think I will be?" Loki snorted. "I doubt it. As I am now…" His mouth twisted, slightly, but his eyes remained hard, set. Clint felt the muscle in his jaw twitching. It didn't feel _safe, _letting Loki out…there. Who the hell knew what would happen? Even without his powers – maybe especially without his powers – Loki was a loose cannon. Loki, who was watching him, Clint realized, eyebrows slightly raised. "Rejoice," he said, after a moment's pause. "You have some time to yourself. I should think you'd be pleased."

"I'd be more pleased if you went and died in a landfill," Clint said, flatly.

"I'm sure you would." Loki unfolded from the couch, and stretched. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some preparations to see to."

If Loki went out there and civilians died, that was on Clint's head. Loki was still a trained fighter, if not a superhuman one, and if he got in a brawl that could get ugly fast. He didn't give two fucks if Loki got his nose – or neck – broken, but if some dumb kid did for trying to pickpocket the wrong person…

He could just knock Loki out and start locking the doors. Clint had a feeling that wouldn't work either, and would probably just make the situation worse.

_Shit. _

"You're not going alone," he said, harshly.

Loki's head turned slowly, his eyebrows arched. "Beg pardon?"

"You heard me," Clint ground out, unwilling to repeat the words. "I'm not going to be responsible for you wandering around without a babysitter. If you're going out on the town, it's going to be with supervision."

Loki's eyebrows climbed impossibly higher. "I always knew you were a masochist," Loki murmured, after a moment's silence. "But it seems I underestimated how much. Concerned about my well being, Barton?"

"Not yours," Clint snapped, "just everyone else. And if you start causing trouble-"

"You will inflict painful violence upon my person," Loki drawled. "Yes, yes. You _are _getting repetitive, were you aware? You might want to come up with a new repertoire."

"When the old one's still good?" Clint said, without inflection, and Loki laughed as he turned and sauntered off. Clint wondered why he hadn't carried through on the threat of tying the bastard up and locking him in a closet, but he was starting to think that he really ought to get around to it.

~.~

Clint had no idea where Loki had found the clothes he was wearing, and perhaps more than the fact of their existence the fact itself of Loki wearing black skinny jeans and a black vest over something only a couple notches above a t-shirt, hair pulled back in a ponytail that, of course, worked on _him. _Strolling down the sidewalk with his hands tucked in his pockets, _Loki_ was getting second looks, and not the 'run from the megalomaniacal crazy' kind. The world wasn't fair.

"So," Clint ground out, after they'd been walking for ten minutes, "what exactly is it you were itching to do?"

"If you are bored, Barton," Loki said, smooth as anything, "you are welcome to go back to your den and sulk about the fact that you have brought this on yourself."

"Brought this on mys-" Clint cut off and imagined putting a knife right between Loki's shoulder-blades. Better than an arrow. That way he could actually feel the bastard twitch. Ten seconds, and this could be over. "Right. Because this fucked situation is _my _fault."

"You know perfectly well how to get out of it," Loki said, pleasantly, and Clint wondered when it was going to stop making his skin crawl how casually he threw that out there. He didn't say anything, and a moment later Loki added, "I had no particular aims. Did you have some notion?"

"Are you asking me what I want to do?" Clint asked. Loki seemed faintly amused. In general, Clint noted, in a better mood than he had at any other point. Maybe this 'outside' thing hadn't been a terrible idea. If it was going to make Loki more tolerable company…

If anything could.

"More curiosity – what _do _you do with yourself when you are not pretending to be useful?"

Clint gritted his teeth and kept himself from saying _I am useful. _"None of your business is what I do with myself." Loki's mouth tipped up at the corners, and Clint's temper itched again. "I need a drink," he muttered, not intending it to be audible.

"Somehow I am not surprised," Loki murmured, "Though if you get yourself excessively drunk I shall hold your head underwater until you recover."

Clint shot him a look. "I am not going into a bar with you."

"So I am simply going to wander into one alone?" Loki said, with entirely unconvincing innocence, and _damn. _Clint reminded himself firmly that his reasons for not killing the bastard in the first place still held good, and killing him just because he was an annoying little shit would probably compromise his integrity, or something.

"I'll just stand here and laugh when you inevitably get the stuffing kicked out of you," Clint said flatly. Loki's eyebrows lifted, and then he turned, hands still in pockets, and nodded across the street.

"That one looks likely, doesn't it?" he said, and Clint looked to find the diviest looking bar he'd seen in New York, racous noise emanating from within. "Yes," Loki said, after a pause, "I think that'll do quite nicely," and started across the street.

Clint's hand snapped out to grab his arm before he thought better of it with a sharp, "Wait." Loki's head turned slowly to regard him like he was considering an insect, and Clint fought his way through the urge to let go to tighten his hand instead. "Not there." He didn't want to make it _easy, _but even as he said it he knew he'd made the wrong call in saying anything.

"Well," Loki said, a grin blooming on his face of pure, wicked glee. "Now I can hardly go anywhere else, can I? Come, Barton. Or are you going to knock me over the head and drag me away in public? Of course, there's always the option of leaving me to my own devices…"

_Just go, _Clint told himself. _Get out now, go home, what are you going to do anyway, watch a fucking movie and savor the time when you don't have to deal with this fucking asshole. _That would be admitting a defeat of a different kind, though. There was just _no way _to win, Clint decided, and gritted his teeth and started across the street, letting go of Loki's arm with a little shove. Loki caught up with him in two strides, though, his mouth twitching with obvious amusement. Clint didn't say anything.

Loki waltzed right in the front door – past the enormous bouncer – without so much as a blink. With a smile that was so charming that _Clint _was almost distracted, to boot. Almost. The inside was just as divey as the outside, the crowd just as loud and drunk, and the entire place stank like cheap beer and sweat. Even for Clint it was low.

Loki strolled up to the bar and ordered a cocktail that he had to explain to the somewhat befuddled looking bartender, perching himself on one of the stools with perfect nonchalance as heads turned to eye him warily. Clint took a moment to scope out exits, out of habit, set his shoulders, and followed his problem.

"Just a beer," he said to the bartender. "Whatever's on tap, um…IPA?"

"He's with me," Loki said, with a slender smile, and the bartender looked from Loki to Clint and back again as Clint kept his face stony.

"Right," the man said, after a moment, and then moved off. Clint turned his head to look coldly at Loki, who seemed to be absorbed in one of the TVs. He considered bringing it up, and gave up on the idea, though he had a nasty feeling if Loki got bored he would just pick a fight, and with a crowd like this, it wouldn't be hard.

The bartender brought their drinks back and plunked them down. Loki scrutinized his glass, wrinkled his nose, and then allowed a grudging, "acceptable," and took a sip. The bartender stood there, waiting, and after a moment Loki glanced at him again. "—oh! I thought it was clear. My…friend is paying for me." The smile Loki gave Clint was sickeningly sweet, and Clint gritted his teeth.

Refusing to pay would start a scene, probably, and attract more attention to them.

He was going to leave Loki in the bathtub _with water in it _for this. For a few days. He'd survive. Probably.

Clint paid for both drinks, trying to keep his simmering temper just that – simmering.

That lasted up until some guy bumped into his elbow as he was taking a sip and Clint's beer sloshed all over his shirt. "Watch it, clumsy bastard!" he snapped, before looking over. The guy was maybe a head taller than Clint, probably twice his weight, and the sleeve tattoos of bloody thorns on his arms would have been bad enough without the fucking _Confederate flag _on his left bicep_._

"Problem?" Tattoos growled, and Clint tensed. He could probably take the guy, if it weren't crowded. If he had weapons. If he was lucky. He didn't really want to get his nose punched in tonight, though. Tasha would be pissed.

"No," he started to say, at the same time that Loki said, "I believe he expressed a certain concern for your coordination."

Tattoos' eyes snapped to Loki, and Clint swore internally. "I wasn't asking you."

"No," Loki said pleasantly, before Clint could flip him the bird and figure out a way to drag Loki out before things got worse. "But personally, I think he was being generous. Of course, I don't have much tolerance with oafish thugs with a brain smaller than their fist."

Well, Tattoos wasn't looking at him anymore. On the other hand, he stepped around Clint to stare at Loki's back, nostrils flaring and hands clenched into fists. "Do you want to repeat that?" Clint was trying to rapidly consider his options, and not coming up with a whole lot of them that didn't end ugly.

"Would you like me to? I certainly can, if you didn't follow the first time." Loki turned his head and glanced at Clint, eyebrows raised. "I hope you are not a regular here, darling," he murmured, almost a drawl. "The clientele is appallingly plebeian." Ah, _great. _Clint almost heard Tattoos inflate with rage.

"That right? Why don't you and your fairy boyfriend suck my _dick!_" Tattoos said, and Clint didn't quite duck out of the way fast enough to miss the shove that knocked him off his stool and onto the floor. He was on his feet again in a moment, but so was Loki, holding his drink in one hand, still smiling. Clint's blood went a little cold, though, at the sudden cold in Loki's eyes.

"I don't think I like your tone," Loki said, still pleasantly mild. "And besides…I very much doubt you could satisfy me." Loki took a delicate sip of his drink in the perfect silence that followed, and then cast Tattoos a patronizing smile.

_Oh, _Clint thought bleakly, suddenly frozen. _Shit. Clint, you dumbass, should never have…just leave, the bastard can get the shit kicked out of him perfectly fine without you and it'll be good riddance-_

Tattoos' eyes bugged. "You," he sputtered and then swung a punch for Loki's face.

He moved fast. _Damn, _he moved fast, slid out of the way of the punch and Clint didn't catch the move but it ended with Tattoos up against the bar with his arm twisted up behind his back. Loki's expression was…bored, and Clint glanced toward the door. There were too many people between him and it. "Is this how you charm the women in your life?" he asked. "If so, you must pass on my sincere apologies." Tattoos groaned and squirmed, and Loki released his arm and stepped back. "If you don't mind-"

Clint saw the move and began to intercept it on instinct as Tattoos rolled over and lunged. Loki was faster. He caught the man's shoulder and the elbow of the arm going for his throat. Clint realized what was going to happen a moment before it did, and then Loki made a sharp motion with his body and Clint wouldn't sworn he felt the snap of bone in his teeth.

Tattoos went down howling as Clint jerked to his feet, heart kicking into overdrive. Loki's expression hadn't shifted, still the same disdainful, slightly bored look, and the entire bar had frozen and was staring at him.

"Door," Clint hissed, and Loki smoothed his shirt. He inclined his head slightly to the gawking bartender, and turned to stride gracefully toward the door, people just kind of slipping out of the way as he went. Clint trailed after him, trying to keep his head down, tense and on edge, but then they were out in fresh air. Clint let them keep walking for a couple blocks before he turned on Loki.

"What the _hell _was that?"

Loki looked faintly startled. "Beg pardon?"

"Beg – you just _broke _a guy's arm," Clint hissed. Loki's eyebrows rose, and Clint wanted to hit him in the face. And then realized there was no reason not to, and hauled back and just _punched _him full in the face.

Loki's head snapped back and he stumbled back, his expression completely astonished, and Clint felt a surge of satisfaction that didn't quite overwhelm his anger. Loki stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, and then his expression flashed to fury and he took a step forward. "How _dare-_"

"You could have gotten out of that without hurting anyone," Clint snapped. "And you definitely didn't need to break any bones. You went in there _looking _for a fight, and you dragged _me _with you. And if you do again I'll let the police drag you out, and how long do you think it would take SHIELD to find you from there, huh?"

Loki stared at him, his expression spasming. "On Asgard," he said, after a moment, and there was a note of genuine uncertainty in his voice, "to say nothing would make a target, and not to defend myself with adequate force…"

Clint felt his shoulders lock tight. "Yeah, well, there's no magical healing here, remember?" He gave Loki's abdomen a pointed look. "So your _adequate force _just put some guy in a cast for six months because he was dumb and drunk. And in case you _forgot, _you're not _on _Asgard any more, and you're not _going _to be again. So get used to it, and get used to playing by the fucking rules, or it's not going to matter what _I _do cause you'll fuck yourself over just fine. On second thought, maybe just keep doing whatever the hell you want. It'll save me the trouble." Clint turned on his heel and started stalking back down the street, vibrating with tension.

"Where are you going?" Loki asked, his voice sharp.

"Home," Clint snapped, without looking back. "If you keep talking to me, the next punch is going for your nose."

He waited three blocks before looking back, still breathing hard. Loki wasn't behind him. _Good riddance, _Clint thought savagely, and shoved his hands in his pockets, glaring down at the sidewalk. Maybe if the world was merciful, he'd go find someone _else _to fulfill his death wish.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: I am so happy about the response to this fic. By which I mean that I'm so happy that people like it, because this fic is one of my favorite things that I'm writing right now. It's kind of my happy place, and by that I mean it's my place where no one is happy except for me._

_Also, I know where this fic is going now, which is new and exciting. :D_

_With thanks, as always, to my ever loyal beta, the best hawkling a girl could ask for._

* * *

Loki wasn't back by the time Clint calmed down enough to go to sleep, though he locked the bedroom door just in case. He wasn't back in the morning, either, when Clint dragged himself out of bed and made himself breakfast.

He finished his eggs and sat back, his apartment seeming bizarrely quiet all of a sudden. Clint glanced at the door and felt the smallest prickle of unease that he hastily quashed. Loki could have gotten up to anything, he reminded himself. He shouldn't have stormed off, left him unsupervised, who the hell knew what kind of trouble he was going to cause?

(Clint stubbornly ignored the small voice that remarked that Loki was worried about _something _out there, as that sounded altogether too much like worry _for _the bastard as opposed to worry about what he might do. One of those was acceptable, the other one decidedly not.)

It was for the latter reason that Clint caught himself sighing with relief when the door opened around eleven and Loki slipped inside almost silently. Clint looked up from the book he was reading and raised his eyebrows, adopting deliberate nonchalance.

"Out late?" he said, taking the opportunity to look him over, but if he looked a bit mussed there were no signs of bloodstains or anything else that would indicate trouble. Loki glanced at him very briefly, his gaze almost flat, and then glanced away and simply paced silently across Clint's floor to the kitchen, where he snagged an orange from the fruit basket without a word.

Clint shifted, finding himself unnerved by the silence. "I was starting to think you might've gotten yourself arrested."

Loki peeled the orange in one smooth spiral and threw it away, beginning to separate the orange into sections in precise, neat movements. He didn't so much as glance at Clint. Clint tapped his fingers against the page of his book and stared at his shoulders, eyes narrowing.

"If giving me the silent treatment is supposed to bother me, you're really going in the wrong direction," he said, after a moment, and Loki did glance over, finally, his face utterly expressionless.

"I am not," he said, with decided coolness. "There is simply nothing to discuss, and I should not wish to waste your valuable time." He finished separating the orange, and began to eat one of the slices. Clint narrowed his eyes a little further, and after a moment gave up.

"Suit yourself," he said, almost with relief, and settled back on the couch. "I'm not complaining."

"I didn't expect that you would," Loki said tersely. He strode over to the table and sat down. Clint watched out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't see anything off about the way he moved. It occurred to him briefly that that might say more about Loki's ability to not react to pain, and then it occurred to him to wonder why he was so concerned about it in the first place.

He turned the volume up on the TV and looked pointedly away from the kitchen table, wondering how long it would take Loki to get bored with sulking and get back to his usual.

~.~

So it turned out that living with a surly, uncommunicative ex-god who was only offering the bare minimum in terms of communication was worse than living with a surly, overly mouthy ex-god prone to talking too much. It just meant that Clint was constantly on edge in a new and exciting way.

He dealt with it mostly by staying in his room as much as possible and aggressively ignoring Loki whenever he needed to be in the same room, but it was pretty damn hard to ignore someone when you were stuck in close quarters with them.

He was almost _relieved _when he got called out on some longer-duration Avengers business.

"I'm going to be out for a few days," he said, tersely, dropping his duffel bag on the floor. Loki didn't look up from the book he was reading and didn't so much as make a sound of acknowledgment. Clint pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. "If you break anything I'm going to knock you out and drop you in New York Harbor. Same goes for talking to my neighbors. Or really doing anything."

"Am I permitted to feed myself?" Loki's voice was acidic, and he still didn't raise his head. Clint stared at him, half wanting to ask what his problem was.

"Unless you're inclined to starve yourself, which, be my guest. There should be enough in the fridge to last." Not very much, but that was Loki's problem, not his. Loki didn't respond, and Clint felt a twinge of annoyance. "Got it?"

"If I thought it was unclear, I would have said so." Loki turned a page, and Clint stared at him for a long moment, and then turned on his heel, picking up his bag, and stalked out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

He fumed all the way down the hallway and down all four flights of stairs, and only once he was out on the street did he take a deep breath and let it out, feeling the tension ooze out of him at the same time, followed by a glorious sensation of freedom.

Sure, he might be going on a dangerous mission that probably wouldn't go as planned and might well end in serious bodily harm, but at least for three or four days he wouldn't have to deal with the Loki Problem at all. For three or four days, he could breathe and not think about-

"You're already ready?" Someone said just behind him. Clint spun around and swore. Natasha arched an eyebrow at him. "Little jumpy there, Barton."

"You snuck up on me," he accused. "And yeah, I'm ready. You sound surprised."

"You're not usually early." She glanced at his duffel bag. "In a hurry to get out of your apartment?" Something in the tone of her voice made Clint suddenly certain that she was not just asking, and he had a sudden mental image of Natasha slipping into his apartment without knocking and running smack into Loki sitting on his couch and wouldn't _that _be fantastic.

Well, maybe it would solve his immediate problem, but Clint was guessing it would also land him with a whole bunch of new ones.

"Just trying to be unpredictable," he said with a shit-eating grin. Natasha just looked at him, apparently unimpressed.

"Unpredictable. I see." She eyed him, a moment, and then breathed out through her nose. "Is something going on?"

"You already asked me that once this week," Clint said blandly. Nat just gave him a look, and after a moment, he added, "Nothing's going on, Tasha. And if you're going to start fussing over me you're going to have to at least bring me chicken noodle soup. I'm not going to take it, otherwise."

"If I ever do bring you chicken noodle soup, don't eat it," she deadpanned. "For all kinds of reasons. So are you going to tell me why you've been holed up in your apartment avoiding human company outside of work, or do I have to keep guessing?"

Clint considered for the umpteenth time just telling her the truth. _Y'see, Nat, Loki got humanified by his daddy and came running to me thinking I'd kill him, which I almost did, but then didn't to spite him and also because he threatened you, and basically he's been crashing at my apartment and I haven't really been into the idea of leaving him completely unsupervised for long periods of time, which, we'll see how it goes this time. But I'm not brainwashed, I swear._

Clint pulled a face. "It's not…I've just been dogsitting for one of my neighbors. I figured Stark would give me shit over it and I didn't think it was a big deal, so…"

Natasha's expression was powerfully skeptical. "You were dogsitting," she said.

"Yep," Clint said, and summoned a slightly rueful smile. "Poodle mix. Little beast, but I felt bad saying no." Natasha leveled that stare on him that would have shaken a lesser man. Or maybe just one less familiar with her expressions.

Either she decided he was telling the truth, though, or that it wasn't worth trying to pry it out of him, because she shook her head and sighed. "Mmm. I see. Are you done now, then?"

"Yep," Clint said, and grinned at her. "All's well in fancy Chez Barton, though I'm still getting the pee smell out of the rug." She grimaced with a very slight roll of her eyes, but the corner of her mouth ticked up a little too.

"I guess that explains why you bugged out so promptly," she said, a little dryly, and he just shrugged, privately relieved. Even if…he was going to have to figure out how this was going to work eventually.

If he put Loki in a closet and told him to be very quiet, maybe, but the thought of trying to spend a nice evening and/or night with Natasha knowing that Loki was there…yeah, that sounded like fun. Totally unlikely to end in disaster.

_I'll figure it out later. _"So," he said, with what he thought was a pretty good impression of cheerfulness. "You excited? This is the closest thing we get to a vacation all year."

"Unbearably excited," Natasha said, but he caught a fraction of a smile. So he was counting that one as a win.

~.~

Apparently Clint had finally earned some good karmic juju, because for once one of their missions went according to plan and wound up with the lot of them, pretty much unscathed, eating at a fantastic Vietnamese place. Thor liked spicy food, it turned out. It was actually…nice. Good to spend time with these people that he liked pretty well. Good to not have to spend time with Tall, Dark, Crazy and Suicidal. Either way you looked at it.

He was almost in a good mood, if tired, by the time he made it back to New York. He'd almost managed to forget that his brief respite was over. Almost.

Not quite, though, and if it had been hovering over his head at a manageable distance for the duration of the mission, it came crashing back down the minute the Quinjet landed. Clint considered just staying at the tower and avoiding dealing with it at all. Hell, maybe he'd be lucky and the bastard would have taken off. The last four days had gone well for him so far.

The only thing that really kept him from taking that road was the fact that it felt a little too much like defeat, and Clint wasn't quite prepared to let Loki chase him out of his own goddamn home.

Yet. Give it a few more weeks.

He still waited until everyone else started to wind down and Natasha had already retreated to excuse himself. Clint caught the subway back to his apartment, stomach starting to churn nervously. If Loki had seriously fucked something up while he was gone, what was he going to do about it? Throwing around threats was great, but…he should have found out more about the failsafe that threatened Natasha. If he could just figure out how to get rid of that it would be fine and he could turn Loki over to SHIELD, to the police, whatever.

_But you haven't, _a pragmatic voice in the back of his mind reminded him as he ascended the stairs to his floor. The building was still standing, anyway, and there was no obvious sign of any trouble. _And until you do, what ifs aren't going to get you anywhere. _

He took a deep breath outside of his door (innocuously closed though he could see a light under the door) and after a moment opened it, bracing himself.

Clint blinked. Things didn't look…terrible. If anything, his apartment looked cleaner than he remembered. He took a slow step inside, checking for dismantled electronics or…something, who the hell knew what a bored Loki would come up with, but everything looked…fairly intact.

Loki was sitting on the couch, eyes on the TV (which – that was a little surreal), back ramrod straight. He didn't even glance in Clint's direction, not even when he closed the door just a little too loudly.

Well, fine, Clint thought, a little peevishly. Loki could sulk as long as he goddamn well wanted to. No skin off his nose. He paced into the kitchen and filled a glass of water from tap, drank it in one gulp, and filled another one. He heard a noise and glanced over to find that Loki was looking at him, though the moment Clint glanced his way his gaze returned to the screen, which was playing what appeared to be some kind of nature documentary.

"Welcome back," Loki said neutrally. Clint looked at him, almost surprised. It was the first conversation Loki had initiated since the night at the bar.

"Oh," he said, "Are we done with the silent treatment now?" Loki didn't turn his head, but Clint thought he saw his mouth tighten. "Cause I was just starting to enjoy it."

"A pity for you, then." Loki's voice was almost devoid of inflection, and it made Clint twitchy.

"Glad you sympathize." Clint shifted, and took a sip of water.

"I followed your exploits on the – news, is it?" Loki's eyes stayed fixed on the screen, and Clint really doubted that frogs or whatever were that riveting, no matter how hard Loki was pretending they were. Still, it gave him a weird feeling on the back of his neck, knowing that – no matter how far away – Loki had been watching him. Observing.

Clint sneered. "Did you have fun?"

"No." Loki's voice was flat. "You did not leave sufficient foodstuffs, as I suspect you knew. Not approaching the fact that spending four days alone in your near squalor is like to drive me mad."

"You weren't already?" Clint said. Loki cast him a brief and thoroughly scathing look.

"I did not think it possible for your wit to become less refined, and yet it seems to have nonetheless." There was a slightly odd note to Loki's voice, Clint thought, but he couldn't pin down what it was, and dismissed his curiosity about it a moment later. There was no real point to trying to puzzle out what was going on in Loki's head.

"I'm not really trying," he said, and set the glass in the sink. He turned to the fridge and opened it; it was, indeed, basically empty, and Clint felt a small twinge of guilt that he crushed ruthlessly. Loki could fend for himself just fine. "Not really a point, is there?"

Loki said nothing, but Clint thought he heard him exhale quietly, like someone trying to hold in his temper. He turned, pasting on a grin. "So you haven't changed your mind about just hanging around, huh?"

"I believe I made my terms clear," Loki said, still without inflection, and Clint was getting really tired of that neutrality. He wanted a reaction. Needed one; if he was going to have to deal with the feeling like bugs crawling under his skin every time he was in the same room with Loki, Loki was damn well going to suffer too. He shifted, tapping his fingers loudly on the counter.

"If I punch you again will you shut up for another week?"

"If you strike me again I will break your wrist," Loki said, without shifting even an inch though his tone slid toward something strangely conversational. "Your left," he added. "That is your dominant hand, isn't it?" Clint felt his teeth click together and his left hand clenched reflexively, his stomach doing a nervous flip. The incident at the bar had reminded Clint forcibly of the fact that even a mortal Loki was still a trained fighter. He forced his nerves down. "You caught me off guard. It will not happen again."

Clint made himself keep his posture relaxed. "You throw around a lot of threats for a guy who's squatting in my – what did you call it? – _near squalor_."

Loki barked a laugh that made the hairs on the back of Clint's neck stand up. "Push me a little more, hawkling. I remind you that I have _very _little to lose." Clint's skin crawled and he forced himself to stay calm even as his heart thudded anxiously.

"Just enough, apparently," Clint said. "Since you haven't done anything drastic yet. I mean, I figure you have the imagination to figure out all the things I could do to you if you _really _made me mad." His grin stretched and tightened, and he caught a slight twitch of Loki's head that was deeply, viscerally satisfying. "So I figure you won't take the risk just to throw a temper tantrum, am I right?"

Loki said nothing, though Clint caught a slight motion that might have been one of his hands clenching in his lap. "Are you going to trust yourself to the vagaries of _my _temper?" he said, after a moment, with something more like the cockiness Clint associated with Loki's worse moments. "If I am, after all, _insane._"

"Just not _that _crazy, I guess." Clint leaned back against the counter, casually. "So what else did you do with yourself when I was gone?"

Loki eyes didn't so much as flick in Clint's direction. "Very little, and less of interest. I read the majority of your library, other than the truly intolerable trash." Clint glanced toward his shelf, but nothing seemed to be missing from there, either. "Are you quite done being irritating? I did not engage you in conversation because I _wished _to hear you yammer on."

"You sure?" Clint drummed his fingers on the counter. "You didn't get _lonely?_"

"If I wished to enjoy interaction with other intelligent beings, Barton, I would not choose to stay with _you._" Loki's voice had a touch of bite, and Clint was faintly relieved. That sounded more familiar, and after the weird silence, the sniping was almost reassuring.

"If my company's so inferior, you're free to go find someone else," he said. "In fact – please do."

"I am not here to be _entertained._" He sounded taut again, tense, and that was satisfying too. At least he wasn't the only one in a bad mood. "And if you continue to speak to me I will see if _throttling _you gains me some peace of one kind or another."

"You ever think about offering to make yourself useful? Sometimes that works better than threats when you want someone to do something for you." Clint rolled his shoulders back, forcing them down from his ears. "Do you have any useful skills, though? I mean, what are you really good for at this point?" He watched Loki's jaw tighten and felt the same vicious and unpleasant satisfaction at getting to stab back.

"Do not _test _me. I may decide that the risk is worth the price." There was that weird note again, and Clint narrowed his eyes at Loki's head.

"Honest question," he said, after a moment, and watched Loki's hand clench on the arm of the couch. He knew he probably should back off, but doing that now was like staring at a big, red _do not push _button and not pushing it. He wanted to know what would happen. "I mean…other than the magic and the, uh, slightly dubious claim to royalty, what do you actually have?"

He watched Loki's hands clench again, but this time when they released Loki made a strange rasping noise it took Clint a moment to recognize as a laugh. Bitter and harsh and Clint's spine prickled uneasily. He caught himself taking a step back before he halted it. "Indeed," Loki said, after a moment. "What do I have? Rage, hawkling. Rage and enough hatred to burn a world down, perhaps two, if I only had the means." Loki turned his head at last, and looked at Clint, mouth stretched in a smile. "Is that answer enough?"

Clint stared at Loki. His skin looked slightly grey, his eyes had sunken back into deep circles, and now that he was looking there was a slight, consistent shake to his hands. For a moment, he could only just stare. He wouldn't have hesitated to use 'cadaverous' to describe Loki before, but now it was almost too appropriate. "Holy shit," Clint said, after a moment, fascinated disgust rendering him unable to look away. "Have you slept at all in the last week?"

"A bit longer than that." Loki's voice was dry, but it sounded considerably less nonchalant than Clint suspected it was supposed to. He looked away and leaned back, slightly. No wonder he was holding so still, Clint thought vaguely. Couldn't be a lot of energy left for much.

"Sleep deprivation's a really slow and unpleasant way to die," Clint said, bluntly. "Have the hallucinations kicked in yet?"

Loki's shoulders twitched, only barely visible. "Your concern is touching."

"It's not concern," Clint said harshly. "You look like a walking corpse already. Although I guess that's not much of a change." He felt – strange, though, unquiet and uneasy, like he was supposed to do something. It just – _it's normal, _he told himself, _even if he's…you're not made out of stone. _

"As I'm sure you know, death is hardly a great concern of mine." What Clint had taken for a lack of inflection now sounded more like simple – dullness, like Loki was too exhausted to even try for tone. Clint's stomach did something funny, and he wanted to snap something but all that came up was _yeah, well, I'm not really into watching you die slowly in my apartment _or maybe _doesn't that count as self-inflicted _and neither of those seemed like good options. He planted his feet.

"What happens when you sleep, huh? I mean, sure, nightmares, but are you really that terrified of a few bad dreams?" His voice sounded perfectly callous, though for a moment it had felt like it might not come out that way. It wasn't just Loki he had to watch; himself too, just as much. Loki's dull eyes cut to him briefly before he looked away.

"Even were that question relevant, I am disinclined to-" Loki broke off. "—I shall manage."

"Yeah," Clint said. "Cause this is – managing. Uh huh. Right." The look Loki gave him somehow still managed to be scathing, even out of that face. "Well. I'm going to sleep. Some of us just got back from saving the world and have things to do with our lives." He pushed back from the counter and stood up. "Goodnight. If you pass out and give yourself a concussion, I'm going to laugh."

He showered, changed, and crawled into bed, trying to push down the little nagging thread of worry. It was just out of habit, he thought. And it was downright pathetic, even with someone who deserved it that much. Still. Loki would keel over eventually; that was just facts. If he didn't…well. Clint would figure that out if it came to it.

_He_ wasn't going to lose sleep over it.

~.~

Clint woke up in the middle of the night to the kind of sound he tended to associate with slasher films. He flailed awake all at once, immediately awake and alert and on edge. He charged out of the room, a switchblade in hand, down the hall, and-

He stopped dead.

Loki was crammed into a corner of the couch, balled up smaller than Clint would have believed possible, and making that awful noise. It didn't sound like he was stopping for air.

_Jesus Christ, _Clint thought, forced himself out of his freeze, and strode over to grab Loki's shoulder and give him a violent shake. "Hey," he said harshly. "Hey, wake up." Loki's curled up tighter, barely moving with his shake, and still fucking – _keening. _His neighbors were going to think he was committing a felony. Clint tried again. "Wake _up, _if you get me in trouble with my landlord-"

Nothing. _Fuck. _There wasn't enough face visible to slap, and he didn't think he could pry Loki out of his defensive curl enough to do a sternum rub. That left- _fuck fuck fuck. _If he didn't do something soon, though-

_It's not regressing. You're still in control. _

Clint dropped to his knees next to the couch. "Hey," he said, lower this time, close to his ear. "Loki. It's me. You're fine, you're – safe." He choked on that a little. "It's okay." He took a deep breath. "It's just a dream. You can wake up now."

Loki came up hard, fast, and sudden, and with a wild swing for Clint's face. He jumped back quickly, but the frantic attack had already been shoved down and Loki was just sitting there in a snarl of blankets, eyes wide and white all around the edges and breathing like he'd run a marathon. Clint stared at him, narrow-eyed.

"Guess you fell asleep," he said, finally, on a monotone. Loki made a sound that was probably an attempt at a snarl. Weak one, though.

"I do not need-"

"I wasn't doing you a favor," Clint said bluntly. "You woke me up. You wake my neighbors up too, I get in trouble."

"Fine," Loki said. He turned his face away. "So much the better. It was a mistake. One I will not make again."

"You will, though," Clint said, implacably. "You're human now, remember? Means you can't get away with not sleeping. And there's only so far you can fight your body before you don't get any choice in the matter." Loki's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer. "As you just found out." Loki looked like he wanted to spit nails.

"You are enjoying this."

Clint shrugged. "Not the part where I get woken up in the middle of the night. Sounds worse."

"What sounds worse?" Loki snapped.

"The nightmares. Than the ones you were having before. Or did you think I'd forget about that?" The way Loki tensed suggested that he had. Or maybe that he'd hoped as much. Clint stayed where he was. "Well, I didn't."

"That is no longer any concern of yours. Unless you wish to attempt to soothe my dreams," he added, with a barbed, unpleasant sort of smile.

"No," Clint said bluntly. "I just want to get a good night's sleep."

"You will," Loki said flatly. "Now leave me."

"Nah." Clint held his ground. "Is it worse? What've you got crawling around in your head that's so _scary?_"

Loki's mouth moved like he was trying not to snarl. "Oh, do you want to talk about bad _dreams, _Clint Barton? Although I expect yours are pleasant. At least until you wake." Clint felt himself coil tight.

"I'm not the one who came up screaming. So it is worse. Why, huh? Guilty conscience getting you?"

"Hardly." Loki's jaw was twitching with a tic, but Clint was more interested in the expression in his eyes, slightly wild and definitely fearful. "Surely you don't think I intend to share my thoughts with you."

Clint shrugged. "At least you'd know I'm not going to feel sorry for you." He hardly knew why he said it. Loki just looked at him, expression flickering between things that Clint couldn't quite read, and then glanced away.

"It is none of your concern."

"I'm pretty goddamn aware of that." Clint moved back from the couch. "Still. You woke me up. Is this something to do with why you're so dead set on suicide by proxy?"

Loki's mouth set in a line, but Clint noticed that he'd pulled his knees up to his chest, though he doubted Loki was aware. "Even if I were inclined to answer your questions, _hawkling, _I fail entirely to see why it should matter to you."

Clint shrugged. "I'm curious. Is there something out there after you?" He settled back on his heels and arranged his face into smooth disinterest. "You worried about what's going to happen once your masters realize you fucked up and there's no Asgardian line of defense?" He heard Loki's breathing quicken, just slightly, and watched his shoulders twitch up, a small shiver running through his body. He expected to feel satisfaction but the main feeling he got was vague nausea. Clint made himself smile thinly. "Is that it?"

Loki's head turned just enough for him to fix Clint with a baleful stare full of hate and something else. "Do not presume that you know or understand _anything _of my life."

"Thanks to _you _I know more than I want to." Clint left a flat stare on Loki, imagined his eyes boring through him. "I remember you didn't like them much. The Chitauri. Never seemed too happy after your little chats with them, or whatever it was."

Loki's teeth flashed, his expression briefly feral. "They were a useful tool but hardly pleasant company. Much like yourself." Clint grinned.

"Weak. You've said how _fond _you were of me." Just saying the words made his stomach clench, but he pushed forward. "And I don't know. The more I think about it, the more I think it's the other way around and you were _their _tool. You don't usually put your important leaders on the front lines." He could see Loki's body winding tight and wasn't quite sure what the strange feeling buidling in his chest was. "Is that more how it worked? They gave you a little power, and you scurry around setting up their invasion, is that it?"

"Silence," Loki snapped, uncoiling, his eyes hard. Clint raised his eyebrows.

"Hitting a little too close to home? So what now, huh? You got their whole army killed, you think they might be after some revenge?"

"Go back to sleep, Barton," Loki said, voice almost humming with tension. "Much as I would love to discuss your bizarre theories-"

"Maybe that's what I should be figuring out," Clint said ruthlessly, making himself smile unpleasantly. "SHIELD probably has some tech that I could use to send some kind of intergalactic text message, _dear Chitauri, come and get your stray dog, _how quick do you think they'd come round?" The color had drained from Loki's face, and he looked even more deathly pale. For a moment, just a fragment of a second, Clint caught a look of sheer, stark terror in his slightly widened eyes, mingled panic and despair that cut his voice off, even the shreds of vindictive pleasure evaporating.

A moment later Loki's face was swept clean, though, and he almost sounded steady when he said, "It might be preferable than sitting here and listening to your elaborate fantasies."

He could push, Clint knew. It would be easy. A not small part of him wanted to, wanted to take that glimpse of terror and grind down on it, make Loki feel the fear that he'd lived with, woken up with, breathed and dreamed and wrestled against. Wanted Loki to feel powerless and helpless and utterly at the mercy of someone else.

He couldn't. Not quite.

Clint shrugged. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, neutrally, suddenly just feeling awkward and petty. Loki glanced away from him, features tight.

"Are you quite done?" he asked sharply, after a few moments. "Or were you going to make more of a nuisance of yourself?" The effect of his haughty tone was somewhat diminished by the hoarse note to his voice. Probably from screaming.

Clint's insides did something strange and twisty, and Clint pushed it down. It wasn't pity. It _wasn't. _Just leftover goddamn instincts from when Loki had stuck his fingers in Clint's head and fucked with his brain. "Yeah," Clint said. "I'm done." He took a step back. "Are you going to pass out and start screaming again?"

Loki looked at him, eyes flat and dull again. "Concerned you might not get your rest, Barton? I don't think I need remind you that there _is _a solution to your problem and mine."

"No thanks," Clint said, and turned around. He paused, just a moment, then paced down the hallway and ducked into the bathroom. He pulled the orange bottle off the shelf behind the mirror and exited, tossed it on the couch. "Here."

Loki stared at it, and then raised his eyebrows at Clint. "And this is…"

"Just take it," Clint said, feeling his shoulders draw up. "I do want to sleep, and it didn't sound like you were having a whole lot of fun, and I'm not going to off you just because you have a few nightmares. Or don't take it, next time I'll just gag you to muffle the noise. I don't care." He set his jaw, expecting some comment about why he had it. He was sure Loki'd put the pieces together.

He still wasn't going to listen to that awful noise if he could avoid it, and that was just preservation of the few scraps of sanity he had left.

Loki didn't say anything, though, just picked up the bottle and turned it in his fingers. It occurred to Clint, belatedly, to realize that Loki could just overdose, only then he remembered the suicide clause. He wondered if Loki didn't _know _if it would count, and wasn't quite sure whether it was spite or something else that made him add, "Use two. More'n that and you're going to have problems." The look Loki shot him suggested that he heard the undertones of what Clint was saying, but he glanced away before Clint could identify the expression. He waited a moment longer, not sure what he was expecting, and then turned away. "I'm going back to bed."

"Thank you," Loki said, suddenly. The words sounded awkward, and Clint couldn't keep himself from turning around and just…staring, for a second. Loki wasn't looking at him – almost pointedly, Clint thought – and at least that let Clint give him an incredulous look without having to meet his eyes.

"It's not for you," Clint said, bluntly, after a moment. He thought he caught a tug at one corner of Loki's mouth, though his face was in shadow.

"I am aware. Nonetheless, whatever else I am, I was raised a prince, and I believe it is customary to offer gratitude for…services rendered." The silkiness of his voice was an approximation, but it still made Clint's skin itch. "Whatever your reasoning, I appreciate your offer."

Clint stared at him a moment longer, and then said, "If you really want to show your gratitude you can get out of my apartment and never come back."

"You are so very droll, Barton," Loki said. He sounded almost amused. Clint hunched his shoulders and started down the hall.

"Next time I wake you up by shoving your head in the sink," he said, without looking back, and thought he heard a sound like an aborted chuckle, but he wouldn't have sworn to it. He picked up his pace and closed the door to his bedroom a little too hard before Loki could get a reply in.

Clint lay awake for a while, listening, but he dropped off eventually. His dreams were vague and confused, a blend of killing Loki and kneeling at his feet, swearing anything and everything if only he'd just take him back. The former wasn't as satisfying as he wanted it to be, and the latter still felt too real.

But he slept through the night, and when he dragged himself out of bed the next morning, for the first time he walked out to the kitchen and his housemate wasn't awake, but was still curled up on the couch, one hand clutching the blanket, fast asleep and breathing slow and evenly. The orange bottle of pills was sitting, open, on the table.

Clint spent a few moments trying to figure out what his emotions were doing, gave up, and decided to eat breakfast out. There was something just a little too surreal about fucking _Loki _sleeping like a kid on his shitty couch, and it was too early to try to figure it out.


End file.
